


but your tears are shaped like flower petals

by ritsuizuleo (nightfullofstars)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, implied/referenced mao/anzu, kind of anyways... the vomiting itself isn't really vividly described but. it's there i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfullofstars/pseuds/ritsuizuleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanaki Byou; A disease of the human system that coughs up flowers due to severe one-sided love. Its infection route is through contact with vomited flowers. In order to fully recover the disease, the one's love must be fulfilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but your tears are shaped like flower petals

**Author's Note:**

> look i wasn't too keen on the hanahaki thing but there's really nothing for it. you say flowers and unrequited love? I'm There.  
> also technically this could have been grouped into the drabble collection but it seemed ....... idk just take it as is i guess,

It hurts.

Makoto watches them, watches Anzu smile, watches Mao laugh and holy shit _it_   _hurts._ He can feel it swelling in his chest, in his stomach, twirling upwards and clenching at his throat in such a way that it feels _suffocating_ and knows immediately that he has to get out of there. He chokes out something about needing water, turns on his heel, speeds from the room, and then there's the feeling of thorns scratching against his throat and he knows not seeing it won't be enough to get him by this time.

It hurts.

It's never a pleasant sensation, never feels like anything Makoto has known flowers to be associated with, and he finds one of his hands feebly clutching his throat as a rainbow assortment of petals spill from his mouth. He tries to distract himself, tries to think of things he likes -- electronics, music, Trickstar, Anzu -- but then of course the thought of the producer only worsens it, only brings forth a new and stronger wave of petals that Makoto is almost certain will suffocate him. Everything burns, every ounce of his body feels as though it's screaming and before he knows it there are tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Wave after wave, each petal comes with another wave of pain, another burning desire to be free from the sinfully beautiful flowers gathering around him.

It hurts.

He hates this, hates knowing he's no better than the very upperclassman he despises, hates knowing that they have been burdened with the same curse since the day Makoto had to watch Izumi suffer just as he does now. He hates himself, hates that he'll never be able to support Anzu the same way reliable Mao can, hates that even now as he's curled over himself and out of the others' sight he's still nothing more than a coward.

It hurts.

Suddenly there's a hand resting between his shoulder blades, a small delicate hand Makoto knows can be none other than Anzu's, and another choked cough and small spray of petals fall past his lips once more. She crouches beside him, hand tracing tiny circles on Makoto's back as flower after flower escapes him. She leans against him, brown strands spilling across his shoulder and he feels ashamed, ashamed that she has to see the proof of his curse and ashamed to think that this wouldn't even be happening if he weren't so hung up on her.

It hurts.

"You should see a doctor," she finally murmurs once the final spurt has passed and Makoto has managed to catch his breath, "I've heard rumours that if worst comes to worst, it can be surgically removed..."

It hurts.

But he laughs as though it doesn't, smiles at her as though she didn't just witness him at his weakest. "There's no need," he hums, hoping his voice isn't as shaky as he fears it is. "It's not all that bad." It's obvious that she wants to say more, obvious from the way she studies him that she's wondering who the one Makoto likes possibly could be, but she has the grace not to ask, instead pushing herself to her feet and extending a hand towards him after dusting off her skirt.

His hand grasps hers, and although a tender smile curls at his lips and his heart soars, it still hurts.

 


End file.
